


Made to Measure

by coaster



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Character Study, Explicit Sexual Content, Fanart, Inappropriate Use of Pocket Squares, M/M, Masturbation, Mild D/s, Mile High Club, Object Insertion, Possessive Behavior, Semi-Public Sex, minor exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 22:40:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13645908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coaster/pseuds/coaster
Summary: Steve loves seeing Tony in a three-piece suit.~Steve loves fucking Tony when Tony’s in a three-piece suit.[Now with porny fanart!]





	Made to Measure

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for [a prompt in Round 3 of the Cap-Ironman Kinkmeme](https://cap-ironman.dreamwidth.org/1790749.html?thread=13674525#cmt13674525) (see end notes for full prompt). Thank you to, [Heyness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyness)/[@tonystarkier](http://tonystarkier.tumblr.com/), the original anonyprompter, for inspiring this fic! I've polished it up and hope it's still enjoyable!
> 
> A huge thank you to [Serinah](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Serinah/pseuds/Serinah) and [Politzania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Politzania/pseuds/Politzania) for their lovely beta work. All polish is thanks to them and all remaining mistakes are my own because faux-stealthy post-posting edits have definitely been made.
> 
> * * *
> 
> MARCH 2018 UPDATE: Heyness has commissioned art for this fic! Thank you to [@buukkin (tumblr)](http://buukkin.tumblr.com/) for the lovely porny art! The art has been added to the second chapter with permission and the original post can be found [here (NSFW)](http://buukkin.tumblr.com/post/172108019541/a-commission-for-the-lovely-tonystarkier-based-on). Please go forth and admire it~
> 
> * * *
> 
> MARCH 2018 UPDATE 2: This fic has now been translated into Russian by Alisa_Kaplan. You can read it [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/6682708)!

When Steve had been a younger man, he had only the one nice suit to call his own. Passed down from his father, his mother had done her best to fit the beige fabric to Steve's much smaller frame. It never sat very well on him; the fabric was stiff, rough, and there was only so much time his mother could spare on it, only so much money for a family of two in Brooklyn. Still, Steve had loved it even as he yearned for more. He'd worn it whenever he could get away with it. To Church, to the pictures, on Bucky's double dates with his girls, picking up his mother from her shifts before she'd gotten too sick to go to work…

Even though Steve had looked like he was drowning in his one best suit, he'd loved the look of it if only because it was the one he would see the most often. He loved the idea of it. The fabric frayed over the years and somehow the threadbare smoothness of it had only made Steve love it more. He'd pretended it was one of those patterned silk numbers with the broad shoulders and sharp lines he'd seen the rich men wearing over in Manhattan or in the pictures, or one of the nicer jackets Bucky sometimes put on for nights out dancing. Those richly cut fabrics looked striking on the imposing figures of men who had money and power to show it. If his eyes had lingered on the stretch of fabric across the flex of a man's biceps or the subtle bulge underneath the smooth front of fitted pants, well, it wasn't a problem for him. Steve never thought he would have the chance to be there in the spotlights with them or rub shoulders with them.

Until he did.

Senators with bold patterned ties that flashed interesting colors under the flashbulbs of cameras. Businessmen in pinstripes, eager to shake his hand, to pat him on the shoulder and pose for photographs. Howard Stark, who only wore suits on occasion that were almost indecently trimmed. But Steve hadn't had the heart to admire it. He'd dropped himself into the middle of the war and he focused all his effort on defeating HYDRA. And when the icy waters were rushing over his head, well, there was no heart in him for anything more than to feel peace in the encroaching darkness.

 

* * *

 

It was funny when Steve thought about it. All his life he'd been admiring the cut of a suit from afar and suddenly it was the 21st century, and he was surrounded by colors and fabrics he'd never even thought could be combined. It wasn't just that. It was that fashion choices were looser, much looser, and he had to put effort into looking for something that wasn't a polo shirt and jeans. It was infuriating. It was eternally frustrating. And it shouldn't be because that wasn't entirely the truth.

There was one man he was constantly near, one man who filled gorgeous bespoke suits in ways that made Steve forget his own name, one man who could make Steve's heart beat too fast just by fingering the pearly buttons of a Zegna waistcoat. One man who loved spending his time in t-shirts or loose hoodies or tight-fitting tank tops or – not that Steve could complain too much – sleek red-and-gold metal.

Tony Stark of the endless wardrobe, choosing, more often than not, a simple leather sports jacket instead of a velvet dinner jacket. Steve's eternal frustration was somewhat justified. But he did the best he could with what he was given. His memory, sharper since taking the serum, helped him recall each and every suit Tony had ever worn. His skin, so much more sensitive to the textures, memorized the feel of each one.

Steve made it his private mission to catalogue Tony's suits. He learned all the different cuts, all the different designers, all the different fabrics, all the descriptive names for the colors and the patterns, all the possible accessories, and he tried to not think about the cost of each bespoke suit. His little notebook was filled with sketches of Tony in suits that probably cost more than Steve's bike ten times over.

In the end, the glossy lapel holes he loved to finger (Asolsa Lucida, as Tony’s tailor informed him) or the texture of fabric he loved to stroke (Tony loved silk the most) weren't the things that kept his attention – they drew him in like a moth to flame, but it was Tony who kept him circling around, mesmerized. _Tony,_ who wore his suits like a second skin, moving with sensual grace underneath the smooth lines of soft cloth or metal even as he spun through life like a whirlwind.

It was Tony's warmth filling out the smooth wool underneath his hands, and how sleek the sleeves felt underneath his fingertips whenever he dared to allow his touch to linger on a shoulder, an arm, a wrist. How Tony started leaning into his touches. How Tony looked, buttons undone, dark silk framing bared skin and the bright glow of an arc reactor.

It probably wasn't surprising that Steve would eventually fall into bed with Tony. It certainly explained the heat stirring at the pit of his stomach whenever Tony, whatever he was wearing, had smiled at him with those expressive brown eyes twinkling. It was inevitable. It made Steve happier than anything he'd felt since he'd woke up in this new century. It opened doors to opportunities he never knew existed.

It quite literally opened doors, too. Steve gained access to Tony's closet. The size of a small apartment, it was like a treasure trove and Steve didn't know how to handle it. The first time Tony asked him to go pick out a different tie for him because they were running too short on time for him to change into an evening suit, Steve stood there in the 'closet' and took in the entire section of suits and ties and shoes and shirts and sat down on the nearest bench to control his thoughts and his very ill-timed flash of arousal. And when Tony wandered in five minutes later, creamy white shirt undone at the collar beneath a slate gray Tom Ford ensemble in a cut which accentuated his hips, Steve lost it completely.

They arrived at the conference on time only because of Happy's not-strictly-legal cutting of street corners. Steve didn't notice. Tony's hair was still dishevelled but in Steve's opinion, it only made him more beautiful. Tony looked relaxed, loose, and all entirely because of Steve. He was also in a new tuxedo suit, one more suited for the occasion, the first one having been crumpled and stained with their combined efforts after Steve had thrown him over a row of brightly colored ties and fucked him until the shelves broke. Steve was of the opinion that he should have worn it anyway. Tony had feigned a scandalized gasp but followed it with a string of lewd suggestions about being 'entertainment' for the crowd. Steve had taken off his own tie and fastened it around the base of Tony's cock in a fit of possessiveness, its loose ends tucked neatly into Tony's briefs. And suddenly, that door had also opened -- Tony was his to claim, his to mark.

It took much of Steve's not inconsiderable patience to resist the urge to drag Tony away to somewhere private during the dinner after Tony's keynote speech. It took all of Steve's remaining shreds of self-control to not have his way with Tony right there at their table anyway, other people be damned. Tony was the center of every gathering, Steve knew that. But knowing that Tony was schmoozing around the tables and speaking up on stage with his cock tied until Steve decided otherwise made him feel proud, almost smug, that this man was his and his alone. Seeing Tony, _his_ Tony, move with the litheness of a fighter, of _Iron Man_ , beneath a charcoal Brioni tuxedo was intoxicating. He itched to touch, to feel.

And in the limo back to Tony's tower, he finally did. He took Tony apart slowly, stroking him and touching him without undoing a single button. He loved the tightness of the muscles cording Tony's arms. He loved the quiver of his stomach as he rutted their fully clothed hips together. He _loved_ the rub of fine wool against his cheeks, beneath his lips. The scratch of satin under the scrape of his nails.

And when Tony was close, when his gasps became higher pitched and his nails scratched sharply into Steve's scalp, Steve finally undid Tony's pants to watch his reddened cock stand erect around the folds of charcoal wool, leaking precome almost nonstop. It was a beautiful sight and Steve only wished he could preserve it forever. With a firm grip, he started pulling the black silken tie off of Tony's cock, letting it slide along the entire length, eased by its smoothness and Tony's precome. It caught on the head of Tony's cock and Steve tugged it off, hard, earning himself a scream of pleasured pain from Tony. He smoothed his hands down Tony's clothed thighs in comforting strokes and licked at Tony's slit until Tony came and came, splattering swirls of white on the dark fabric of the suit and sliding down Steve's chin. He made sure to keep his own suit spotless even as he loved to see Tony's stained with all the marks of their pleasure.

It was like that now. That was now the fate of every one of Tony's suits but it wasn't like Tony ever wore them twice anyways. It wasn't like they were a complete loss even after they were stained. Steve did his best to clean them off once he got them off of Tony. And most of them came back from the dry cleaners without question and in pristine condition, ready to be passed on should Tony choose. Tony accused him of driving his poor tailors and cleaners to drink from the extra work. Steve had no grounds to argue against it.

As was sometimes the case, Tony had to travel for business. The hour before these business trips would be spent with Steve in a suit, then out of it. And once Tony was in the air over one of the oceans, Steve would be lying on their bed, his feet still tangled in the sheets as he buried his face into the cooled lining of Tony's suit with a sleeve wrapped around his cock, rutting into the fabric to Tony's scent until he saw stars. And if the suit was too stained even after a thorough cleaning, well, Steve tried to not feel too guilty about the number of suits that met this fate.

And even with Pepper as his CEO, even with a team of Avengers to pick up the supervillain slack, Tony's schedule was still tight. For shorter trips, Tony liked to fold himself into an Iron Man suit and fly himself there to save time. He would show up to inspections or meetings in slightly wrinkled suits, and Steve would more often than not hear more about it from Pepper than from Tony. Steve only knew about how the wrinkled suits looked on the floor of their bedroom -- or Tony's workshop, or the kitchen -- afterwards.

The best times, then, were when Steve could clear his schedule to join Tony on these trips. There was a thrill in seeing Tony change into a suit on the plane before landing, knowing that he couldn't rough Tony up for his international Stark Industries business partners who would see him as soon as they stepped off the tarmac. Tony's reputation as a playboy was persistent, but long since balanced by the media's love for Iron Man and the philanthropist pushing for green energy. Steve didn't like the tabloids and their rumor-mongering but he also didn't want to be the one to tip the balance for Tony into more turbulent public waters by letting Tony show up to meetings with a telltale stain on his pant leg. It had happened once, early in their relationship, and Steve was careful to not let it happen again.

The very best times, though, were not during the trips themselves, but during the return trip where they had hours upon hours to themselves, undisturbed. Even though he'd never called himself a businessman, even though he rarely appeared to care about the running of Stark Industries beyond Research and Development, Tony still had a mind for business. It was why Pepper ordered him on these trips. Tony had a mouth on him and he could talk the talk with the best of them. And this talking always riled Tony up; he would pace up and down, hands waving animatedly, his suit jacket unbuttoned as he poured his thoughts about the successful merger into the open space of the cabin. Steve watched, amused, noting the creases at the back of Tony’s jacket from sitting for too long. He wanted to smooth them out.

It was simple enough to transform thought to action and he had Tony's back plastered to his front, right hand pulling Tony closer to him by the stomach, the left smoothing the creased fabric over the curve of Tony's ass in the scant space between their bodies. Tony kept talking, barely a hitch in his breath, and Steve took it as a challenge. He nibbled along Tony's ear and took to sucking the skin at the base of Tony's neck as he undid the buttons of Tony's waistcoat one by one.

He continued to squeeze at Tony's ass with his left hand until he decided that he wanted another prize. Reaching around, he nudged a leg between Tony’s thighs and ground the heel of his palm into Tony's hardening cock while his right hand continued to roam Tony’s torso, sliding up to finger the Asolsa Lucida before moving on to loosen the silk red tie and start undoing the buttons of Tony's shirt. Tony, ever the stubborn man, kept talking business, only barely pressing his ass back against Steve's hard cock. Steve could feel him straining to hold still, his thighs stiff with the effort to keep still and his fingers twitching slightly in their gestures mid-air as he continued to ignore Steve's attempts to make him surrender.

Steve tried for a different tactic. He gave a command and the stripper poles rose from their place in the floor and fixed into the ceiling. They'd used them before on previous trips home. Tony loved to peel himself out of business suits for Steve's hungry eyes. Steve had even tried it once or twice in the Captain America uniform, which never failed to get Tony to pounce on him before the pants were even off. He had a different plan this time, though. Turning Tony around, he backed Tony against a pole and pinned his hands above his head, telling him to hold on tight. Tony, mouth now running off about a completely unrelated filtration project, obeyed, a hard glint in his eyes daring Steve to break him, to silence him.

It was a game Steve thrilled in playing -- shattering Tony’s control and using his toys against him. Slowly, so very slowly, he dragged his palms down the front of Tony's chest, feeling the contrast of suit, shirt, waistcoat, and skin. He stopped to pinch sharply at Tony's nipples through three layers of fabric, breathed in Tony's groan, and continued on his way down until he was undoing the front of Tony's pants and slowly pulling the fly open over the bulge of Tony's erection.

The flushed redness of Tony's cock was beautiful against the slate gray of Tony's suit and Steve belatedly realized that this was the same suit he'd fucked Tony in when he'd first set eyes on Tony's closet. Tony had never worn that suit after that day. And now he probably wouldn’t be able to wear it again because Steve was barely holding himself back from pawing right through it. Tony closed the inch of space between them to claim Steve's open mouth with a filthy kiss, tongue probing deep, his beard scratching at Steve's lips and spurring him back into action.

He spun Tony around again and with a hand looped around the end of Tony's tie, he dragged Tony down until he was bent low, legs straight, hands braced on the pole, ass in the air, exposed. The game transformed. Tony was now egging Steve on, an endless stream of filth pouring from his mouth as he shivered from head to toe, the tension and heat rolling off of him with every broken plea that punctuated the filth.

Steve took his time; this was his favorite version of Tony, a Tony in a beautiful suit with all his buttons undone, his cock hanging heavy and his ass presented for Steve's taking. He leaned over Tony's bent form, enveloping him with his much larger frame, opening the buttons on his own shirt so he could feel the glide of Tony's jacket against his chest. He wanted to thrust into the clothed heat between Tony's thighs. He wanted Tony sprawled on top of him, rutting against him with the fabric of his suit rubbing the length of Steve's body. He wanted to do so many things to Tony in this suit. He gave Tony's cock a quick stroke and moaned into the fabric between Tony's shoulders, his lips feeling the breath heat the fabric through to Tony's skin until Tony shivered.

With a gentle tug, Steve pulled Tony's pants down to expose the curves of Tony's ass. He refastened the fly, tightened the side fastenings, and gave a slap to Tony's ass to tell him to widen his stance. Tony yelped but spread his legs at Steve's urging, until the pants were securely held in place behind his balls, underneath the crease where Tony's ass met thigh.

Steve got to work, teasing his fingers into Tony's ass one by one, eased by a minimal amount of lube. Tony let out lovely moans at each finger added as Steve took over the talking and whispered all his dirty thoughts into Tony's ear, glad that Tony couldn't see him blush through describing the many ways he was going to ruin Tony and the suit. When Steve pushed a fourth finger into Tony's loosening hole, he gave the back of Tony's neck a kiss and knelt down to check his handiwork, fingers never leaving their snug place inside Tony's body.

The sight caught him unawares. Tony was beautiful. Every part of Tony was beautiful. Steve knew that. Tony in a suit was magnetic. And Tony, bent forward, ass in the air, his loosened hole open and wet around Steve's fingers, framed by the shimmering fabric of a Tom Ford three-piece two-button suit -- this was the most beautiful sight Steve had ever seen. He plunged his fingers in deep, almost to the knuckle, and Tony jumped, a shout reverberating through the cabin. Steve curled his fingers and started rubbing into Tony's prostate with familair ease, not stopping even when Tony whimpered and clenched tighter and tighter, squeezing Steve's fingers as he tried to hold orgasm at bay.

The slick sounds of Steve's fingers inside Tony were loud even over the engines and Tony's moans, and Steve added more lube to ease his way deeper. A rivulet of it ran down his wrist and he grabbed the only loose fabric he had near him to wipe it away. The bright red, white, and blue of his own pocket square was a lovely contrast to the tan of Tony's skin and the darker hue of Tony's suit. Without thinking, he pulled his fingers out of Tony and shoved the silken cloth into Tony's quivering hole. Tony twitched, moaned, and Steve soothed him with a gentle kiss to the cheek before sitting back onto his heels to admire the view of his colors stuffed in Tony's ass.

Even before Tony’s breathless suggestion, Steve knew what he wanted to do. The 21st century was amazing, he'd finally realized. He took out his phone, found the best view, and took a picture. Like Tony said, it really would last longer. The digital camera shutter made Tony moan loud and high. Steve noted the cue and took himself out of the aching confines of his own pants, pulled the pocket square from Tony's ass and threw it to the side, then shoved into Tony to the hilt with one hard thrust. Tony almost collapsed beneath him, a needy whine escaping his throat as he started rocking himself back on Steve's cock. Pulling Tony down to a kneeling position,  Steve started a relentless pace, fucking into Tony as he pulled him back and forth onto his cock with a grip that tore through every layer of Tony’s lovely suit, his knuckles gently grazing Tony’s heated skin. He closed his eyes and lost himself in Tony's heat, content that another trip had ended successfully on all fronts.

 

* * *

 

Tony Stark, Steve learned, could be surprising and thoughtful. Steve found himself in the Smithsonian on what he'd thought was a whim of Tony's. He didn't particularly enjoy walking through the World War Two exhibit, but he was happy all the same that the men and women who'd braved their lives were remembered here. That his Commandoes were remembered, that Bucky was remembered, and that Peggy was honored. That wasn't the surprise. The surprise was going to the display about himself, about Captain America, and finding, on a mannequin in a newly erected glass case, a familiar beige suit.

Steve recognized the suit immediately even with the repairs he knew were made through restorative efforts. The small stains on the left pocket from where he'd leaned against the wooden barriers on Coney Island. The small cigarette burn on the right shoulder from walking into a kitchen hand on his break in a parking lot. The small smudge of red at the hem of the jacket from where he'd sat on a red crayon that melted in and wouldn’t come out. The familiar jagged alterations at the hem of the pant legs. He didn't need to read the plaque to know that Tony had hunted this suit down, and had probably paid a fortune to take it from the hands of some private collector only to donate it to the museum. And all that just for Steve.

Tony was hesitant, like he didn't want all the effort acknowledged, like he didn't think it was as big a deal that it was.  And it was a big deal, in a way. It was Steve's first suit. It had, perhaps, been more formative of Steve's person than the movie ticket stubs that were found inside the pockets. And maybe only Tony knew about that side of him. Maybe only Tony got to experience that side of him considering the way he was starting to wear his beautiful suits more and more. This frayed beige suit can be for the public. For himself, it was never really about what he wore. It had slowly stopped being about what other people wore. These days, he only had eyes for one.

There was a short flight home from this little trip; he could show Tony his appreciation then. That nice Tom Ford three-piece was ruined beyond all hope, but really, any suit was a good look on Tony. And sometimes even Steve had to admit no suit was an even better look.

 

* * *

 

_[INVOICE FROM TONY’S DRY CLEANERS]_

**_Order no.:_ ** _0002781_

 **_Pc(s):_ ** _5_

 **_Items:_ ** _Jacket (Tom Ford base custom, sleeves, lined), Waistcoat (matching), Trousers (matching, BC), Shirt (DBS, silk), Tie (silk)_

 **_Cleaning requested:_ ** _AES Standard. Repairs sought for (1) Jacket L and R front panel tear, jacket lower back panel tear, associated lining tear, loose L shoulder seam. (2) Waistcoat L and R front panel tear, lower back panel tear, loose buttons. (3) Trousers fly and waist adjuster repair or equivalent replacement, waistband tear, L and R knee tear, loose seams crotch.  Customer has already been informed that damage to Shirt is irreparable. Customer has also been informed that damages to listed items may be irreparable._

 **_Additional Notes:_ ** _We have cleaned the items to the highest standard our services can offer. Repairs for Jacket, Waistcoat, Trousers unable to be sourced due to extensive nature of damage and inability to match material. We suggest that Mister Stark refrain from wearing customs during strenuous activity to avoid irreversible damage to timeless pieces._

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to know your thoughts in the comments! Here is the [tumblr post](http://coastertoaster.tumblr.com/post/170769379505/fic-made-to-measure-by-coaster-steve-loves-seeing) for this fic.
> 
> Tony's lovely Tom Ford three-piece two-button suit is of course based on the one we see in Captain America: Civil War. The suit in the movie is not actually made by Tom Ford and there are some design disparities but it looks close enough to one that you can pretend Tony totally had one custom-designed for him because Tony Stark can do things like that.
> 
>  Original Prompt:
>
>>   
> Growing up poor, Steve used to dream of owning a suit like what gentlemen would wear back then. He appreciates the clean lines and how the fabric feels on skin. So yes, Steve likes suits and Tony just made it a kink for him.
>> 
>> Bonus:  
> -when Tony's away from the tower, Steve would masturbate smelling Tony's recently worn suit and would even wrap his cock with the sleeves  
> -Steve loves fucking tony in a suit with just the buttons unbuttoned and Tony's pants just pushed down to bare his ass  
> -Steve would wrap Tony's cock with his tie as a cock ring  
> -at one point while loosening Tony's hole, he would push his own pocket square inside tony  
> 


End file.
